


Cold to the Touch

by LadyThrimbletrimmer



Series: OverWLWatch [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Polyamory, Romance, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unapologetically gay, Widowmeiker, with special guest gremlin dva
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7574776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyThrimbletrimmer/pseuds/LadyThrimbletrimmer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Dammit</i>, thought Widowmaker, <i>I'M supposed to be the intimidatingly sexy one around here.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold to the Touch

It was the ice that first caught Widowmaker’s attention. It glittered in the moonlight. A gem that melted. A mayfly made of diamond.

Widowmaker stared at the ice through the scope of her rifle for just a moment before it fell apart to reveal Mei. The scientist had never been on Widowmaker’s radar. Yet as the assassin watched snowflakes dance around Mei’s gentle round features, she could not look away.

Mei turned. Widowmaker could have sworn that the eyes behind those glasses were looking right back down the scope into hers.

* * *

“Lena?”

“‘Allo!”

The skirmish was over. Tracer and Widowmaker shared the bathroom mirror. The pilot was carefully flossing while the assassin removed her makeup.

“What do you think of Mei?”

“Oh ho ho ho!” Tracer gave Amélie a toothy grin in the mirror. Widowmaker’s emotions were difficult for most people to discern, but Lena Oxton had become something of an expert. “Fancy a bit of the cold shoulder, do ya?”

“Is that another English euphemism?”

“Nah, I made it up. Means nooky with Mei.”

“I- I never said- you are dodging my question.”

“Am I? I didn’t think so.” Tracer took a swig of mouthwash and gargled. Oxton’s commitment to oral hygiene had surprised Widowmaker at first. Apparently dedication to her heroic appearance outweighed the speedster’s terminal impatience.

“You always leap straight to conclusions. Perhaps I simply wish to know more about my lover’s friends.”  
Tracer spat the mouthwash into the sink. When she looked up, her minty-fresh smile was bigger than ever. “You’re right, luv. I shouldn’t make assumptions. You probably don’t want to caress her soft face.”

“Lena.”

“Squeeze that divine rump.”

“Bien-aimé.”

“Bury yer face in those stellar t-”

At this, Amélie smacked her lover upside the head. From there the night devolved into play-fighting and laughing and kissing, as most of their nights did.

* * *

Early the next day, Widowmaker received an alarming message from Tracer. The pilot had apparently made plans to have a “girl’s night out” with Mei. Those plans were almost immediately changed when Lena had gone on a last-minute “mission.” What was more distressing was that she, Amélie, had “volunteered” to act as Tracer’s substitute. The message was sprinkled with winky-face emoji that did nothing to alleviate the assassin’s stress.

Widowmaker had ways of dealing with stress.  
Target practice. Exercise. Synthesizing poisons. Online shopping.  
Nothing helped.

2:04.  
She has a mere five hours to get ready.  
What to wear?!  
A dress? Which dress?  
This one shows too much cleavage, that one shows not enough. This one makes her shoulders too wide. And oh god, her hair's a mess and all of her bras are dirty!

She was ready. The dark red cocktail dress with slight gold trim was to die for. Hair: styled. Shoes: lovely. Makeup: on. Perfume, body hair, and all the rest: done. Now she just had to wait....  
4:33  
… two and a half hours. Just sit perfectly still for two and a half hours. She’s waited three times that long for less important things.

A gentle chime startled Widowmaker out of her paralysis. It was a message from Tracer: Chill.

The assassin sighed. Lena was right.

* * *

The time finally came, and Widowmaker stepped out of the elevator into the basement level that included Mei’s lab. The slight chill in the air assured Amélie that this was the correct place.

She knocked on the laboratory door, and it slid open to reveal…

“Sup.” D.va leaned on the doorframe, holding a two-litre bottle of soda.

“Hello, Song. I was not aware that you were here.”

“Mei let me set up my gaming rig over by her ice thing.” Hana took an idle sip from the curly straw. “Computers run better in the cold.” The gamer gestured with her head into the lab. Widowmaker peered inside. D.va was not the only one taking advantage of the chill. Bastion and Zenyatta sat in a corner, beeping quietly at each other. 

“Mei lets you all just stay here? Does she not have work to do?”

Hana shrugged. “She can kick us out if she wants. I think she likes the company.”

“Miss Widowmaker!”

A door on the other side of the lab opened, and Mei stepped out. Amélie was speechless. The scientist wore a plain white button-down shirt and dark gray pencil skirt. The look was so effortlessly elegant, it made Widowmaker feel like an overdressed teenager. 

_Dammit_ , the assassin thought. _I'M supposed to be the intimidatingly sexy one around here._

Mei swept her into a brief bear hug. “Ready to go?”

“Oui, whenever you are.”

“Wonderful! I’m sure you’ll love the place. Lena and I never miss karaoke night!”

“Oh! That sounds fantastic.”

As Mei said a quick goodbye to the others, Widowmaker cursed herself. She couldn’t go anywhere in this ridiculous outfit, certainly not to a karaoke bar. But that didn’t stop Mei.

* * *

The bar was exactly how Widowmaker had imagined- small, cheaply painted, and welcoming. Twenty or so people were gathered around the tables, watching some middle-aged man singing an American song. A few of the patrons stared at the assassin, and she tried to ignore them.

“I’ll get us drinks!” said Mei, toddling off before Widowmaker could respond. For a moment she felt lost and alone, but instinct took over. Blend in, follow the crowd. She found the machine to request a song, and picked something she knew well enough. Then she found a relatively discrete booth and waited.

Before long, Mei joined her. “The wine selection here is not so good. I hope this is okay,” she said, passing Widowmaker a glass of cabernet sauvignon.

“You are too kind,” said Widowmaker. She noticed that Mei’s drink was in a mug and had something sticking out the top. “Is that cocoa?”

“Yes and no,” the scientist said, showing Amélie the drink. “Hot chocolate, ice cream, and Bailey’s. I call it a ‘Panda Diplomat.’”

“How did you come up with that name?”

“Oh! Panda diplomacy was a real thing. China would loan pandas to zoos around the world as a gesture of goodwill.” Mei took a sip.

“That is so sweet!” said Amélie.

“I know! But imagine a panda with a little bow tie, talking about trade negotiations? Wouldn’t that be so cute?”

Widowmaker laughed nodding. Her nervousness had evaporated. Mei was so charming and genuine. No wonder she and Tracer were such good friends.

They talked like that for a while, about animals and international affairs. What struck the assassin was how much Mei bounced when she talked. Almost every word was accompanied by a gesture- usually not a large one, but one that was distinct and with clear meaning. The sort of conversation she could have understood through her rifle scope. Occasionally she would dance along to one of the songs, and always had applause for the singers.

Then the MC called Amélie up to the microphone. Her first reaction was a feeling of choking cold terror like swallowing an ice cube. But the wine and conversation had taken off much of the edge. If nothing else she wanted to participate in the evening.

“Looks like it’s my turn,” Widowmaker said. Vaguely she registered a strange look on Mei’s face, but she did not take the time to process it before heading up to the performance space.

She had expected to be the center of attention, and had braced for the wall of eyes. Mercifully, most of the other patrons were in their own conversations. A few were clearly ogling her, but that she knew how to handle. As the music started she glanced back at Mei. The scientist still had an odd expression that Amélie couldn’t quite identify.

The song was from a movie that Amélie had enjoyed as a child, a sweet old American comedy about chasing one’s dreams. She had learned it by heart at eight years old, and still hummed it on days when she needed cheering up. She had chosen the French version, counting on the language barrier to compensate for her lackluster singing voice. By the end, many of the other patrons were humming along. She ended with a graceful bow, earning a very respectable amount of applause.

“That was lovely!” said Mei as Widowmaker slid back into her seat. 

“Thank you,” she smiled. “Have you picked a song as well?”

“Oh no! Lena and I never sing.”

“What?” Widowmaker felt humiliation creep in around the corners of her face.

“No, we just like to listen and applaud.”

Through the fog of horror, Widowmaker grabbed at an opportunity. “Let us sing something together.”

“What?”

“A duet. Come, I insist.”

“Please, I am not good at singing!”

“Neither are most of these people. All we need is to find a song we both know.”

* * *

Hours later the two agents returned to the Watchpoint, still singing “Unforgettable.” They took the elevator up to the room that Widowmaker and Tracer shared, giggling as they tried to croon to each other quietly. As one they collapsed onto the couch, tossing their shoes aside. 

“Tonight was wonderful,” said Amélie. Mei murmured something that sounded like agreement as she gently fell into the assassin’s lap. 

They stayed like that for a while, humming more songs together. Eventually Widowmaker suggested that they both go to bed, and Mei responded with a grunt of sleepy disagreement.

“Then you stay here and I’ll go to over to my bed.”

“No.”

“May I at least go pee?”

“Ok, but come back.”

As Amélie did her business, she sent Tracer a message about how well the evening had gone. The pilot’s response consisted largely of hearts and smileys. Tracer’s second text, sent to both Widowmaker and Mei, was that Mei had free reign to borrow her pajamas.

By the time Amélie had washed her face and brushed her teeth, Mei was knocking at the door to use the bathroom as well. Clutching some of Tracer’s pajamas, she pushed her way past Widowmaker before slamming the door.

“Would you like some tea?” she called to the scientist.

“Yes! No caffeine.”

Widowmaker put the kettle on the stove. She changed out of her evening wear and brought a blanket and pillows to the couch before returning to check the water. She heard the bathroom door opening, and assumed that Mei had gone back to collapse on the couch again. It came as a surprise when the scientist wrapped her arms around her waist.

“Thank you for this,” said Mei.

“For what?”

“For this whole evening. You are so sweet.”

“Thank Lena. She’s the one who set it up.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I hope she didn’t pressure you into going out with me.”

“She didn’t.”

“She assumed that I was interested in you.”

“Are you?”

“What if I am?”

“Then I would say forget the tea and come to the couch.”

“I do have a bed, you know.”

“I like couches.”

“To the couch, then.”

* * *

Widowmaker knew that her skin was cold, a side effect of her slowed heartbeat. Mei was the first person who didn’t seem to notice that fact. She certainly didn’t let it stop her.

* * *

“Well? How’d it go?”

“You know, you could have warned me that it was karaoke.”

“Eh, I knew you’d be fine.”

“It was wonderful! You should have been there, Lena!”

“She’s right. And next time, we all sing together.”

“Now, there’s no need to-”

“I insist.”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should incorporate the Overwatch WLW stories I've been writing into a big "all the ladies are in a poly relationship and continuity is mostly irrelevant" AU.


End file.
